


The Good Stuff

by slambam



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: And a good time was had by all, Drinking, F/M, Fluff, Morning After, Post-Halamshiral, bull's braces, cheerful servants, hangovers, i dont know how this got so long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 01:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5724949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slambam/pseuds/slambam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I need a better drink than whatever watered-down perfume they had at Halamshiral.” Tasnim turned from locking the door, watching as he set the crate down on an end table with a grunt. “I thought you might need one, too.” </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Good Stuff

**Author's Note:**

> post-halamshiral. no real spoilers, so long as you know the gist of Wicked Eyes, Wicked Hearts.

As soon as the carriage door was shut and the pretty pit of vipers that was Halamshiral was finally out of sight, Tasnim exhaled hard, leaning forward and pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. After a muffled command from their coachman the horses broke into a trot, jostling them all as the carriage bounced across the cobblestone walk of the palace. Tasnim raised her head, letting one hand slide down over her face and rest over her mouth, staring with tired eyes half-open at the back wall of the carriage’s cabin.

 

As the night wore on and careful diplomatic relations became less and less important, most of them indulged in the seemingly endless stream of alcohol. It had worked too well for some of them – Cullen and Varric, sitting across from each other, were dead to the world and slumped completely against their respective walls. Slightly more lucid were Cassandra, Josephine, and Leliana - Cassandra sat, looking tired and almost wistful, watching out the window, and Leliana and Josephine leaned against each other, both laughing as quietly as they could at private jokes.

 

So much couldn’t be said about Tasnim. Except where politeness mandated, she’d abstained from the drinks all night. Even so, there was only so much Orlesian party liquor could do for someone of Vashothari stock, but that was for the better. She was sure there was nothing would have made some of those nobles happier than for the Inquisitor to get drunk and reveal that under all the fancy trappings she was just the ignorant, violent oxman they so wanted her to be. After all the things Tasnim had indulged the Orlesians in that night, she wouldn’t give them that, too. Not in a thousand years.

 

Now that it was over, though, and all the nobles were out of sight, the last thing she wanted to be was sober.

 

Tasnim sighed and let her head loll forward, rubbing the back of her neck. The jacket, of course, pulled and strained and chafed in the same ways it had been pulling and straining and chafing all night.

 

Josephine glanced in Tasnim’s direction at the sound of clinking metal, blinking as Tasnim unbuckled her belt and untangled herself from the sash, tossing them on the bench next to her. The gloves followed – at least those fit well – and Tasnim unbuttoned the jacket, exhaling in relief and rolling her shoulders back as soon as it was open. She hadn’t bothered to put on the too-tight undershirt after the third time she had to abandon her armor and return to the party. It was cold without it, but she didn’t regret leaving it behind. Better near bare-chested and cold than wearing that fucking thing anymore.

 

Josephine averted her eyes and buried a shy smile in Leliana’s shoulder. 

 

“Cuine viste,” She mumbled.

 

Leliana’s cheeks flushed and she scolded Josephine through soft laughter. Tasnim ignored them, trying to put all thought from her mind as the carriage rolled onward.

 

* * *

  

Surprising no one but impressing them all, Josephine had arranged for them to have the run of a Duchess’s nearby guesthouse for the night – she’d been very pleased at their repair of the bridge at Judicael’s Crossing, apparently – complete with a small team of carefully vetted servants. When they arrived, the Inquisition’s best tumbled out of the carriage and up the walk to the house in a sleepy, ragged line, greeted with bows and curtsies by the servants that were there to receive them. Tasnim wandered behind the others with Bull at her heels, belt and sash slung over her shoulder.

 

As she entered the front hall, she exhaled, brow furrowing slightly, and lowered her eyes. The Fereldens had their own set of problems, but at least they knew the value of a plain stone wall. That wasn’t the case with Orlesians, and the place was so plastered with ornament that there was barely room to breathe.

 

“Bonne soirée, Madame Inquisitor.” Tasnim glanced down at the man who’d appeared at her elbow and he flinched. “I’ve… I’m to show you to your room, if you are ready to retire?”

 

She raised her eyebrows expectantly and he nodded for his own reassurance more than hers.

 

“This way, then, Madame, if you please,” he said, before scuttling off down a hallway. Tasnim followed, trying to put the lavish decoration out of her peripheral vision.

 

After a minute or so of walking, the man stopped in front of a monstrous set of double-doors, framed with molding that was too elaborate for its own good. Tasnim bolstered herself for whatever opulence was waiting inside.

 

The little man fumbled with the keys, and after some of the longest moments of his life he managed to unlock the doors. He pushed them open in a grand gesture, bowing deeply as he gestured her inside.

 

Tasnim took a few steps forward, glancing around the room. It was decorated in the same style as the foyer – of course. However, the bed, tucked in among the cacophony, was the best thing Tasnim had seen all night. It was massive – even bigger than her bed at Skyhold, more than enough to accommodate her height and at least four of her across. She’d have to give Josephine her thanks later.

 

“Will you require anything else this evening, Madame Inquisitor?” The man stood in the doorway, wringing his hands as Tasnim glanced around the room.

 

She shook her head and crossed the room to stand near the hearth, laying her belt and sash across the back of the chaise placed there.

 

Hesitating just a moment, the servant bowed again for good measure, ducking out and closing the door behind him.

 

For a few moments Tasnim just stood, relieved to have the fire as her only company. She shrugged out of her jacket, laying it next to the belt and sash, and set about undressing completely. When she was free of it all she walked around the chaise, taking a seat and pulling the tie from her hair. She ran her fingers through it, absentmindedly, and stared into the fire, the tension slowly going out of her.

 

Satisfied with the state of her hair, she lowered herself down, resting her head on the arm of the chaise, and as soon as she was horizontal she felt sleepiness weigh on her like lead. Closing her eyes, she stretched out her legs and ignored the fact that they hung halfway off the couch. Even if this couch was too small, it was soft, and the fire was warm, and there was a good bed when she felt like sleeping properly. She’d get a cold bath tomorrow morning and scrub the feeling of the masquerade all the way off, but for now, this was enough.

 

* * *

 

A soft knock roused her from her doze and before her eyes were even open her brows knit together.

 

Exhaling heavily through her nose, Tasnim pushed herself to her feet and ran a hand over her face as she paced towards the door. There was a grey silk dressing gown hanging on a hook next to the doors and she took it, sliding it on. It probably wasn’t wise or kind to give some hapless servant an eyeful, and even if the robe didn’t fit properly it would cover the bits of flesh typically considered scandalous. To her surprise, though, it fit rather well, almost perfectly – Josephine must have sent it ahead, or this noble was more thoughtful than she’d given him credit for.

 

Decent by most standards and ready to scowl at whatever sorry creature had disturbed her, she opened the door and was met with a familiar expanse of grey, scarred chest.

 

“Hey, Kadan.” Bull shifted the crate of bottles he was holding, the corner of his mouth turning up as he examined her. “Nice robe.”

 

Tasnim stepped aside to let him in, watching him pass curiously.

 

“I need a better drink than whatever watered-down perfume they had at Halamshiral.” Tasnim turned from locking the door, watching as he set the crate down on an end table with a grunt. “I thought you might need one, too.”

 

He lifted one of the bottles and squinted at the label.

 

“This is a 25 year vintage. Nevarran. Good distiller, too.” He sounded almost proud, and glanced over as Tasnim returned the robe to its hook.

 

The way his eye lingered wasn’t lost on her, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before. Coy modesty had never been among her chief concerns, and it wasn’t going to be one now. He handed the bottle off to her as she took a few steps towards him.

 

“I didn’t know you read labels.” She caught his gaze as she started to work the cork with her teeth, the beginnings of a smile playing around her eyes.

 

“Hey. If I’m going to steal some noble’s booze, it’s going to be the good stuff. Besides. I think Orlais owes us one.”

 

Tasnim smiled slightly and raised her eyebrows in agreement as she took the freed cork from her mouth, setting it down next to the crate.

 

She took a sip and blinked, startled. It was… smooth. There was no sternum-dissolving burn like she’d grown accustomed to with spirits, just a steady, spreading heat. Furrowing her brow, she peered at the label again, trying to work out the looping script.

 

“Where did you find this?”

 

“I asked the girl who was supposed to show me my room where the cask cellar was. Apparently, there’s three of them.” Bull took the bottle as Tasnim handed it back, taking a drink. “Elena, I think her name was.”

 

Satisfied, Tasnim lifted the crate in both hands, balancing it against her hip and walking back towards the fireplace. She set the crate down on the floor next to the couch and looked back at him before taking a seat, tucking herself against one of the couch’s arms. Bull crossed the room and handed the bottle to her over her shoulder before stepping off somewhere out of sight. Unconcerned, Tasnim took a drink, watching the flames and settling back into their warmth, but at the slight jingling of metal on metal she glanced over her shoulder.

 

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say so many things in one night.” Bull was out of his belt, and was in the process of taking off his shoulder harness. As Tasnim watched, he unbuckled the main strap and shimmied the brace down his arm, setting it with the belt on top of an overstuffed armchair in the corner.

 

“Mm,” Tasnim replied, taking another drink. Bull laughed. He put a hand on the now-free shoulder, pressing on it and rotating it around a few times as he turned to walk back to the chaise.

 

“You’re not bad, you know. They were impressed.” He caught the subtle look Tasnim gave him as he lowered himself down to sit. “No, I mean it. You should have seen how pissed off those nobles were that you got so much attention.”

 

"They can save the Empress next time, then." Tasnim took another drink, watching as he bent to pull up the leg of his trousers and reach around the top of his thigh to pop the topmost catch on his brace. As he strained to reach the hardware closer to his ankle, Tasnim glanced from his leg to his face, the mouth of the bottle hovering near her lips.

 

Bull glanced up at the sound of glass clicking on the marble floor as Tasnim set the bottle down, eye following her as she slid to the floor and knelt in front of him. She met his eye for a moment, then pushed up the leg of his trousers to the knee and set about detaching the lower catches of the brace. She’d seen him do this enough times to know the process herself and worked quickly, careful of the more intricate pieces.

 

After a few moments Bull reached for the neck of the bottle and paused on the way down to cup the side of her head, running his thumb over the ridge at the base of her horn. She leaned her head into his hand just slightly, exhaling, and not taking her eyes from her work. When she finished she set the brace to one side and stood, watching Bull’s face for a moment. He took a drink, taking in the sight of her, and reached out to put his hand on her hip. She watched him for a few more moments, then turned to sit. He kept a hand on her waist and when she’d settled, he pulled her closer, stretching out his legs.

 

After a moment’s hesitation, Tasnim relaxed into the closeness, letting her head lean towards his shoulder she drew a knee towards her chest.

 

“You doing alright, kadan?”

 

“Better now.”

 

She could see him smile out of the corner of her eye.

 

* * *

 

Something roused Tasnim from sleep and she opened her eyes, unsure of what it was exactly that woke her.

 

There was another fluttering series of knocks on the door, and Tasnim raised her eyebrows in understanding and pushed herself up, rubbing one of her eyes with the side of her hand as she tried to remember what had to be done when there was a knock at the door. You get up and answer the door, she realized, just as the door opened. She squinted at the brightness outside, furrowing her brow slightly at the light. She didn’t remember any windows, how… how did the sunlight get into the hallway?

 

“Bonjour, Madame Inquisitor, I – oh!”

 

Tasnim came to the realization that she was still naked, but she didn’t feel the urge to cover herself. Maybe it was the expensive spirits of the night before posthumously doing her thinking, but what good would that do at this point?

 

“I beg your pardon, Madame, I did not realize you had a guest.” The young woman’s voice didn’t falter again, and she smiled a bright, obliging smile. “My name is Livie. I came to ask where you would prefer to take your breakfast, but I’m sure you will forgive me for assuming you would prefer it here?”

 

Guest? Tasnim looked down, blinking at the arm slung across her waist, and decided she’d process that particular fact it later.

 

“Yes, fine. Here,” She managed, grimacing and running a hand over her face. “And if you have it – ”

 

“Caffé, madame?” The servant chirped, still smiling.

 

“… yes.”

 

Nothing was making sense, and that arm was still there. Annoyed, Tasnim pushed that fact to the back of her mind where it belonged and focused hard as the woman spoke again.

 

“Ambassador Montilyet sent your preference ahead, of course.” She beamed, bowing her head. “And your guest – he seems still asleep, but maybe you know, Madame – would he like anything in particular?”

 

“Chocolat à boire.” The man attached to the arm spoke this time. His voice was muffled by the pillows his face was buried in, and Tasnim looked back at him, brow furrowing.

 

“I-I beg your pardon, Monsieur – once more?” The woman leaned into the doorway slightly, as though to peer around Tasnim and hear Bull better.

 

“Drinking chocolate,” said Bull, irritatedly.

 

“Drinking chocolate,” repeated Tasnim, on Bull’s behalf.

 

“Cinnamon.” Bull added, the word barely identifiable.

 

“And cinnamon. In it?”

 

Bull grunted in approval, squeezing her hip appreciatively.

 

“Of course, Monsieur.” The woman smiled. “I’ll have it here at once, Madame Inquisitor. Will you be in need of anything else?”

 

“I – no.” This was a lot of questions, and Tasnim was slowly realizing just how very sore she was in body and mind.

 

“Of course. Madame. Monsieur. I will be just a moment.” With another sweet smile and a curtsy, the woman shut the door and the room was dark and silent again.

 

Tasnim shook her head, running a hand over her face. There were a lot of things to process, but the most pressing thing was now digging his fingertips into her hip.

 

“Get back down. You’re letting the cold air in.”

 

She had to admit he had a point, as deadened as it was by a down pillow. She shuffled down the mattress, pulling the blanket back up around her shoulders, and Bull secured his arm around her waist.

 

“You’re still here.” The words were uncertain, even as Tasnim put a hand on his back, settling on her side.

 

After another muffled attempt at speech Bull made a frustrated sound into the pillow, moving his arm off of her to push himself up and flip over.

 

“That girl never showed me where my room was after she showed me the cask cellar. I don’t think I could have walked, anyway, and… I felt like staying.” He answered once he had settled, tucking one of his hands behind his head. “Remind me to get you the good stuff more often.”

 

Tasnim edged closer, resting her face on his chest and stretched her arm across his abdomen. She stared at the wall, brow furrowing.“That woman. Livie."

 

"What about her?"

 

She wasn’t – she seemed…”

 

“Seemed what?”

 

“… casual.” Tasnim spoke after a pause and continued to stare at the wall as though if she intimidated it enough it would have answers for her.

 

“This is Orlais, Kadan.” Bull spoke in a knowing deadpan as he raised up the hand trapped between them, sliding it over her hip and letting it rest on her ass. “Unless she started working this morning, I promise she’s seen worse.”

 


End file.
